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Dorothy Inman is a Louisville transplant from St. Louis, MO. She spent 8 years in the corporate world and is now a stay at home mom. She is currently pursuing a career in writing and also co-leads the "Create" Art team at her church. Join her in her musings about writing, art, religion and this thing we call life.

I finally worked up the nerve to do it. I mean I was pretty sure I was going to do it, but clicking that "okay" button was a lot harder than it would seem. It wasn't the $72.00 part, that wasn't a big deal. It was those threatening voices that were taunting me, "You can't do this", "Why on earth would you want to?", "You don't have enough time", "You are going to fail". But I didn't listen. And I did it.

I know you are probably asking, "What the heck did you do?"

I did this.

One 1500 meter (or 1640.42 yards, which equals about 33 laps in
a 50 yard pool) swim followed by a 25 kilometer (24.9 miles) bike ride coming right up.

With only 5 weeks left to train (really only 4 1/2 because I take a break before the race), I am in this. Not to win it, but to hopefully beat my times from last year when I did the Buckhead Border Challenge Relay.

I hesitate to post this blog because I do not want anyone to think I am looking for pity or pep talks. I post it because I want women who have had a miscarriage or are experiencing self doubt to know that they are not alone. As you can imagine, I do not post this easily.

It was a cold, hard winter. The trees were frozen with ice and the pavement almost always had a fresh layer of snow on it. The wind was bitter. The sky was gray and dark. The months of January and February seemed to be a never ending black hole, lacking any hope of spring. And so was my heart.

I did have my good days, but I also had my very bad days. The new year did not bring the joyfulness and enthusiasm for resolutions that it had in the past. The new year brought sorrow and pain. And something else I least expected, it brought self doubt. Since childhood, I have been an insecure person, but this year the self doubt was different. This year I was missing a part of myself. As the days ticked on, and Ez…

There is a letter my third grade teacher, Mrs. Westbrook, gave me on February 16, 1990 that is hanging on my refrigerator. It reads, "I really think you might grow up to be an author. I'm so glad you like to write creative stories! You do a great job!" I leave it there to encourage myself that at one time there was someone out there who saw potential in a 9 year old little girl to be a writer. This life has taken me on some pretty bumpy rides, but if there has been one thing that has been constant, it is my writing. It started with a drawer full of notebooks with unfinished novels in my elementary and teen years. I am hope it ends with a published novel. I started this blog to share my writing with you, but also to share my hopes, dreams, trials and victories.